


I Move the Stars for No One

by TheDirtyBirdie-Archive (TheDirtyBirdie)



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Underage Sex, mostly movie compliant, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDirtyBirdie/pseuds/TheDirtyBirdie-Archive
Summary: Sarah defeated the goblin king and earned Toby's freedom, but not her own, not truly.





	I Move the Stars for No One

**Author's Note:**

> **Please read the tags.**  
>  I choose not to use archive warnings because tagging allows for more specificity, but what I've written does warrant a warning or two. 
> 
> Oopsie daisies, this is _very smutty_. It could be better, It's definitely a lot more vanilla than I usually write, but I really just wanted to play with these characters a little ♥ In my defence, my childhood crush on David Bowie is maybe the only one that survived the realization that I'm mostly gay, at which point my teenage crush on Jennifer Connelly ramped up real intensely, so I think I've put in enough years to have earned myself a little Labyrinth pwp.  
>   
>  _P.S. as far as I can find, in the 80s the age of consent in NY was somewhere between 14 and 16, and it's now 17, for anyone concerned._  
> 

Sarah knows he watches.

At first, she'd thought she was just paranoid. New York has always had plenty of barn owls, she'd heard them before and there was no reason to lie in bed and wonder if it's him when she heard one now.

Still, all too often a shiver would travel up her spine, hairs standing up on the back of her neck with the feeling of being watched. Sometimes, she'd turn around and find nothing at all, others she'd catch a glimpse of ivory feathers out the corner of her eye. A strange mix of emotions would punch through her when she did, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs with the confused overlap of excitement and dread, she tried to remind herself she was being silly. She'd already seen the last of Jareth, and in all likelihood he was glad to be rid of her. Which, she told herself as firmly as she could muster, was a good thing. 

She went on that way for months, by her sixteenth birthday, she's almost managed to convince herself it's true.

Then the dreams start.

While she's had plenty of dreams about the Labyrinth since leaving it, Jareth has always been conspicuously absent from them. Although, if she's honest, even in dreams where she would see her friends, wander all of the imagined areas of the Labyrinth that she never had the chance to explore, she would sometimes feel that same prickling awareness of being watched dance up her spine.

But in these dreams there is no movement out of the corner of her eye, no barely-there glances, just an inability to shake the lingering sensation of his presence.

She's always been able to shake off that aspect of the dreams easily enough in the morning, dismissing them as the same paranoia from the day following her into sleep, it makes sense.

These new dreams, however, aren't so easy to shrug off.

She's still in her room, still in her bed, but something isn't quite right. It's not quite the normal, surreal haze her dreams normally exist in, it's something sharper. An almost overwhelming amount of awareness of everything around her, as if the dial on her senses has been turned up all the way. The chill slipping in from the window, the brush of her sheets against her skin, all of it feels intensified.

She runs her hand over the covers, marveling at the way it sends goosebumps skittering over her skin, hair standing on end, as something almost like pleasure curls inside her and taking in a sharp breath when the movement tugs her sheets across her thighs. They clench together at the sudden explosion of feeling across her nerves only to find that the movement only intensifies the warm pressure quickly pooling in her abdomen.

For a moment, she goes still, focusing on simply breathing, until she is distracted by the gust of cold, near frigid feeling, air that comes with the gentle swing of her window.

Between one breath and another, he appears in front of her, it feels immediately as though all of her overblown senses are drawn to him.

It hadn't felt so long ago that he'd appeared in her bedroom the first time, but now, seeing him here, it feels distant. She doesn't know if it's her new awareness, or if time has dulled her memories, but he seems somehow more than the last time she saw him.

"Hello, Sarah." Thrill washes over her at the sound of his voice. She hadn't realized until now that she missed it.

"You're here." She breathes.

"Am I? Truly? I don't think so." He muses. "If I am in your dreams, it is only because you've wished to see me." Everything has felt so vivid, so alive, she's forgotten she's in a dream. Of course she's in a dream, this couldn't be real. Not only the sensations she's feeling, but Jareth. He can't be here uninvited, she knows that already. So many things she already knows, easily forgotten.

If this is all in her mind, that means she's in control, right? She's in control, and none of this is real.

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"Come here." She commands, trying to feel as determined as she sounds. The grin that spreads across his face is distinctly predatory. He walks towards the bed, living in her mind, under her control, and yet she is the one who feels under his influence.

"How close, Sarah?" He asks, lingering by the edge of her bed, elegant fingers toying with the corner of her bedspread. 

Her fists curl in the sheets, the drag of them across her skin makes her gasp.

"Get on the bed." She's giving herself over to instinct, embracing the lack of consequences. Exploring. 

She watches closely as his grin slips into a too-sharp smirk and he moves towards her, knees sinking down on the mattress. He stops once he's hovering just in front of her. She doesn't realize she's started trembling until she reaches a hand out towards him and notices her fingers are shaking. She swallows hard, half expecting her hand to pass through him like smoke when she reaches him, but it doesn't. Her fingers brush soft silk and she curls a fist into the material, it's softness makes it feel almost plain. It's strange. 

Her eyes flit back and forth, from his unwavering gaze to the place where her hand is curled in the fabric of his loose shirt. Breathing hard, she loosens her grip and drags her hand up to brush her finger tips along the bare skin of his collar. The sensation makes her shudder, nerves alight with sensation, such a simple touch still managing to send heat straight to her gut. It's surprising, she thinks, to realize she's never actually touched him. Even when they'd danced, he'd held her with gloved hands, she's never felt his skin on hers. She wonders if this is what it would've been like in real life, wonders if he would've been this warm. Something about him had always felt cold, untouchable, and she's curious as to when her thoughts on that had changed. 

"What do you want from me, Sarah?" Jareth asks. His voice is so low it's almost a whisper.  

"Touch me." She demands. Her voice is firmer now than before. She doesn't know what she wants, exactly, but she knows that she'd like to find out. Her own dreams seem about the safest place to do so. 

"With pleasure." He leans back on his heels and she allows her hand to drop from his skin as he pulls her sheets back to reveal her thin nightshirt and bare thighs. The amplified sensitivity of her nerves sends yet another shiver coursing through her at the drag of fabric. She lets her head fall back, a small groan escaping her at the feeling, and she hears him let out a small laugh above her. Before she can ask what's so funny, she feels his hands slip up the outside of her thighs and- oh god. It feels so good, better than she'd imagined. She can't resist the urge to rub her thighs together and it's just  _so good_ , her eyes meet his and she practically chokes around the pleasure that threatens to overwhelm her when she breathes his name.

 _"Jareth-"_ She's cut off when his thumb dips into the crease of her hip to drag down the line of her panties and-

Oh.

_Oh._

Sarah's eyes snap open with a start, she's alone in her room, and the only thing she's hyper-aware of is the sticky throbbing between her legs. 

She feels mortified. Scandalous. Excited? 

For a long moment she simply breathes, before the impulse to slip her hand under the covers and toy with herself becomes too strong to resist. It's something she knows girls aren't supposed to admit to, but the heat between her legs demands attention, near overwhelming. She's gotten as far as toying with the waistband of her underwear, enjoying the tickle of her fingers brushing over her abdomen, when she hears it. 

The low hooting of an owl. She snaps her hand back immediately, and sure enough, there in the branches of the tree just outside her window, she can see a white shape. Too obscured by the night to make out the breed, but it's enough to send her back into her pillow, curling up on her side beyond mortified, hands safely above the covers. 

 _It's not him_ , she tells herself, there was no reason for it to be him before, so there's certainly no reason now. It's just a coincidence. A terrible, embarrassing coincidence. 

She falls asleep with her cheeks still aflame and resolutely does not dream again that night.

* * *

* * *

That morning she pushes the dream as far back in her mind as it will go. She ignores the phantom feeling of his hands on her thighs, locks her window for peace of mind, and sings to herself in the shower loudly enough that she drowns out the sound of her own thoughts. 

By the time she goes to bed, she feels confident that the dream was merely an awkward side-effect of her own puberty. A combined manifestation of hormones and confused anxieties from life and the Labyrinth. An isolated incident. She absolutely does not feel nervous and she  _absolutely_ is not, in any way, looking forward to a reoccurrence. 

Unfortunately, it happens again.

And again. 

And again. 

In fact, not only do the dreams not stop, but they seem to come more and more often until they're happening near nightly. 

The worst part is that she always wakes up with an unbelievable pressure coiled in her gut with hot, slick thighs, and an incredible, aching need to bring herself to climax, but she never can. Every time she considers it, closing her eyes and letting her thoughts continue where the dream left off, sliding her hands under the covers, she hears that damned owl outside her window and she, instead, buries her face in the covers with frustrated embarrassment. 

Eventually, she snaps.

She wakes up as she always does. Throbbing apex between her thighs, heaving breaths, and the phantom sensation of Jareth's body on hers. She hears that stupid, ever-present owl outside and decides she  _could not care less_. It's just a stupid owl, she's told herself that a thousand times and by this point she'd know if it wasn't true, so what is she so worried about? It's probably built its nest outside her window, not likely to go anywhere anytime soon, and she can't go on like this. So, she decides to be bold, take her pleasure in her own hands, so to speak. 

She throws back the covers, and a shiver of anticipatory pleasure crawls up her spine with the feeling of exposed skin. 

Reclining back on her pillow, she lets her thighs fall open, ignoring the way her cheeks burn for no good reason, and takes a deep, slow breath as she slips her eyes shut and lets her hand drag down her body. She's already come this far, so she doesn't try to clear her mind or lie to herself about what's gotten her to this state, she focuses in on the dream she'd been caught in mere moments ago, drawing the details to mind with as much clarity and feeling as she can manage. 

She bites her lip between her teeth as rubs two fingers down her slit, through the thin, wet layer of cotton which covers her, imagining the feeling her mind had conjured of Jareth rubbing against her, grinding his hips down into hers. A small moan slips through her lips as she presses down harder, hips coming up to meet her hand in small circles. With a sigh, she moves her hand up to slip under her panties and touch herself skin to skin. Heat rises in her chest, heart beating hard, as she rubs her finger carefully over her swollen clit. 

 _"Jareth."_ She breathes, unthinking, unworried, only to freeze when the utterance is immediately followed by a sharp hoot outside her window. She draws her hand back, and for a moment, she refuses to open her eyes. It- it can't be. She would know. It's been well over a year, surely he'd have shown himself by now, if it was truly him. 

She waits, holding her breath, for- well, she's not sure what, but  _something_. She waits and she waits and something never comes. It's silly, she's being silly. Trying to relax, she forces herself to breathe and focus once more on the heat between her legs. She's not sure whether she should be concerned about the fact that her moment of panic had done nothing to dampen her arousal. If anything, the spike in adrenalin has knotted ball of pleasure in get gut growing in intensity. 

With trembling fingers, she brings her and down again, brushing over herself so lightly it makes her shiver. When the touch is barely there, it's easier to imagine it's not her own hand at all. Sparks of pleasure light up her nerves as she grows bolder, gradually rubbing harder until she's pushing down into her hand an a stuttered, erratic rhythm.

"I wish," She breathes. "I wish," The words are tempting on the edge of her tongue. She's not even quite sure what'd she'd say, she wouldn't offer Toby again, but there must be other words, other ways to summon him. Not that it matters, she wouldn't say them anyways, but the thrill of being so close is enough to push her over the edge.

"I-wish, oh, god-" She cuts herself off with a cry as a wave of warm, heavy pleasure washes over her, limbs shaking yet unable to move. 

As she relaxes, melting into the mattress as she lazily tugs the blankets back over her, she hears the owl hooting outside her window again. She's too tired to tell if it's her imagination that it sounds almost mournful. 

* * *

* * *

From that point on, Sarah doesn't hold back. 

Every night she brings herself to climax with pale hair and elegant limbs in mind, every night she hears the hooting owl at her window, and every night she wishes for words she can't quite bring herself to speak.

Every morning, she wonders if she's tempting fate.

* * *

* * *

Sarah's father and Irene are gone away for the weekend to visit Irene's aunt, Toby in tow. These days she's getting along much better with Irene, and managing to tolerate Toby a whole lot easier since admitting to herself that she does, in fact care about him, but she still hadn't been crazy about the idea of the trip and had managed to convince her dad it would be better if she stayed home to study for finals. After-all, what did he have to worry about? She's got her issues, but she's not exactly the partying type. He'd conceded and left her with several emergency numbers and more than enough money to get through a few days. She wished them well and promised she'd do her very best not to burn down the house while they're gone.

The truth is, there really is no need for him to worry, her plans for the night are specific, but not all that exciting. She intends to order an entire pizza for herself, no one else around to side-eye her for eating too much, steal the last slice, or insist on altering any of the ingredients. The next step of her plan is to pour herself a very illicit glass of wine, which she's well aware is not meant to pair with pizza but not particularly concerned about as there's no one else around to judge her for not really being able to tell the difference, anyways. She will stay up late in the living-room, hogging the TV for all of her favourite period dramas no one else in the house can stand, and then she'll take the nicest, longest bath with all the hot water and no one banging on the door telling her to hurry up and get out so they can use the bathroom.

She's very aware that most people her age would call it a waste of a weekend, but Sarah misses having her alone time, it's been hard to come by the last few years and she's planning on taking full advantage of it. She didn't even tell her friends about having the house to herself, not wanting to chance any interruptions.

By the time she drags herself upstairs to draw a bath it's about three thirty and she's feeling pleasantly tipsy and just a little lethargic. 

She turns on the tap as hot as she can stand comfortably so the water won't cool for a long time and pours in a truly indulgent amount of bubbles. It feels a little childish, but it also feels a little luxurious, and right now she's happy to give in to both. She gets undressed while the tub fills and sits on the edge of it brushing through her hair. Once the water is high enough that the bubbles threaten to spill onto the floor she dims the lights, giggling to herself a little at how over the top it feels, and slips into the water.

It's so hot that at first it stings at her skin, but she forces herself to wait it out and soon enough the pain recedes into a pleasantly consuming heat. She feels so, so wonderfully weightless as she lets herself float the little bit that the tub allows, bringing her hands up to play around with the shape of the bubbles. It's impossible not to let her mind drift, like this. The relaxing warmth of the bath, the wine, the ability to see anything she wants in the bubbles, not unlike kids looking for shapes in the clouds, it's all too easy for her thoughts to slip back to the Labyrinth. To Jareth. 

Hoggle and Ludo and the rest of her friends from the Labyrinth still visit from time to time. Sometimes she considers asking them if she can go back with them, just for a little while. They could be sneaky, careful, so he would never even have to know she was there. Even she can't quite convince herself it would ever work, but then again, she's not entirely sure she would want it to. 

Still, she never asks. She never asks about him either, though she wants to, they sometimes mention in passing how he's grown more lenient, but it only seems to be a result of his increased reclusively. It seems vain to think it could be because of her rejection, that she'd wounded his ego so badly. She wonders if he ever thinks of her at all, she tells herself there's no way, he's probably forgotten all about the silly little girl who showed up to make a nuisance of herself for a day and snatch his prize away from him, but privately she's almost certain that he does. In the back of her mind, she's never quite managed to shake the suspicion that he does much, much more than just think of her. The thought stirs the now-familiar tension of arousal in her abdomen

 _Maybe_ , she thinks, giddy,  _maybe if I do it now I won't wake up tonight_ , maybe she can finally see just how far her imagination can stretch while she sleeps. 

With a goal in mind, she slips her hands down, biting her lip as she drags them up and down her inner thighs before running the fingers of one hand through the nestle of curls between them. It doesn't take long, in the state she's in, giddy and relaxed enough not to be self-conscious about what she's doing or what her mind wanders to as she does it. 

Not allowing herself to pass out in the tub once she's finished takes a considerable effort, and she decides it's probably better to cut the bath short rather than accidentally end up drowning in the tub. Besides, she's still got tomorrow night, so she doesn't particularly mind the waste. 

By the time she sinks into bed with hair still damp she's more than ready to fall asleep. Her whole body still buzzes from the overwhelming combination of warmth and orgasm and lingering alcohol and she burrows into the duvet. Though her mind is whirring with excitement and anticipation, her body lets go of consciousness easy.

* * *

* * *

Just like every other night, Sarah wakes from the dead of sleep with sticky thighs and a warm, heavy pressure in her gut.

She wants to cry, she wants to scream, every night the dream is more lifelike than the night before, and every single night it ends before he can really, truly touch her and she is going to  _lose her mind_. She'd really, really thought she might get there this time, find out what he felt like. What he tastes like. She feels stupid for even thinking of it. Even if she had, it wouldn't be real. It wouldn't matter or count for anything, she's deluding herself by thinking otherwise.

She tosses off her too-hot blankets and sits up, turning to beats one of her pillows in frustration. She picks it up and tosses it violently to the floor. 

At first, getting herself off afterwards had felt new enough, thrilling enough to send her off to sleep giddy with dizzying satisfaction. Now, it just leaves her aching for what she cannot have. Frustrated to tears, she throws herself back into the blankets.   
"I wish you were here," Her voice is muffled by her pillow, but even so she hates how desperate she sounds. "I'm so tired of this." She speaks, quieter. No sooner have the words left her lips than she feels a burst of fresh air sweep through the room. She jolts upright, clutching the covers to herself, and he's there, in her room, with less fanfare than before but perhaps even more intimidating for the heat rising to her cheeks.

"You're here!"  
"I am." His grin is everything she dreamt and more, and she's suddenly feeling very, very awake.  
"You can't be! That's not possible, I didn't say the words!"  
"You didn't need to." Her mind is spinning. He takes a step closer to the bed and she can already feel a flush rising to her cheeks for how many times this has already unfolded in her mind.  
"But- You can't be here without them! I have to invite you in."  
"Was that not an invitation?" He asks mildly.   
"I didn't invite you in  _properly_ , like the book says." She insists, willing herself not to look away from him in embarrassment. Something in his expression changes, and he looks so much like the cat who caught the canary that she can't help feeling all types of nervousness. 

"I'm afraid, dear Sarah, that you do not need to invite me in at all. I can come and go as I please, thanks to you." Another step closer.   
"That can't be true."  
"No? Cast me out, tell me to leave. You can't, can you?"

He waits, and she tries, she tries to say the words, fighting harder every second but they won't leave her mouth. 

"What- why can't I say it?" She stammers, breathless.  
"Oh, Sarah." He sighs, smiling to himself. "You invited me in, you entered my realm. You may have earned your brother's freedom, but you never bargained for your own." She swallows, thick, as his words sink in. "I'm afraid, as you so eloquently put it,  _You have no power over me_." The smirk that spreads over his face is downright predatory and when he begins walking closer to her, her heartbeat rushes in her ears, a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Does that mean- in the dreams, you made me-"  
"No." He cuts her off, sharp, stopping where he stands, now at the foot of her bed. His tone leaves no room for doubt. "I did not make you do anything. I would not take what you won't willingly give, why do you think the dreams always stopped so quickly?" He asks, clearly insulted by the implication. "I don't want you for a slave, Sarah." He insists, more somber. "Quite the opposite."

"So they were real?" She asks, the cold inside her being gradually thawed and replaced by the embarrassed arousal that burns through her.   
"As real as you wanted them to be."

Her cheeks are burning, she's well aware that they both know how real she wanted them to be. She bites her lip as all the things she'd asked of him, begged of him, run through her mind, not quite able to meet his eyes. but unable to look away from him entirely. 

He steps forward, slipping onto the bed with one knee. When it dips with his weight she's sure her heart can't beat any harder until he carefully slips one of her hands from it's tight grip in the sheets to hold in his own. They're not gloved, her is heart beating so hard and fast that she can barely hear herself think, but she still manages to register that even without the surreal, overblown senses of her dreams, his touch sets her on fire.

When she glances up, it's impossible to escape the intensity of his gaze once she's caught there.

"I would be your slave, Sarah, if only you'd allow me." She believes him.  
"And what would you ask in return?"  
"Nothing more or less than before."

_Let me rule you._

A shiver runs down her spine.

_Fear me, love me, do as I say._

A part of her, more prominent than she cares to admit, finds great appeal in his words, but she's not foolish enough to take him up on them, not yet.

"Did you mean what you said? You won't take anything I don't give, willingly?"  
"I meant it." He promises.  
"And..." She hesitates. "And if I said all I can give you, for now, is tonight?" Something in his expression shifts when she says 'for now', she has a feeling she's given away more than she realizes.  
"You can have anything you desire, you need only ask."

She knows what she wants, she knows now beyond a doubt, but after so many days spent trying to convince herself she was foolish for imagining he could ever consider the same, she needs to hear him say it.

"What about you? What is it you desire?" His thumb slides over her wrist as he pulls it closer, though he doesn't do it roughly, it belies his patience.  
"I thought we'd already been over that."  
"No, I mean-" She stops, flustered and not quite sure what to say.   
"I know what you meant, Sarah." He grins at her, eyes alone saying every filthy thing her words cannot. "I want you, in every way you'll let me have you. You have no idea what a torture it is to know every night you finish yourself thinking of my touch, knowing I'm close enough to give you all you want and more, if you would only _say the words_." He hisses out the end, and she can ear the desperate edge to his voice.

There's no pretending she's not embarrassed, nervous, but his words fill her with bold enough want to overcome herself. 

"You can touch me, now." She bites her lip. "I want you to."

He doesn't waste a moment longer. 

Kicking off his boots, he slides onto the bed completely and wraps an arm around her, hand leaving a trail of goosebumps over the bare skin over her back, to pull her forward until she's settled in his lap so that they're eye to eye. She's still got the covers clutched to herself wit one hand, but she feels incredibly exposed up close like this, bare back chilly from the cool night air, save the brand his hand is burning into her skin. His other hand slides up to thread through the hair at the nape of her neck, and when he pulls her close she lets her eyes slip shut. 

His kiss is consuming in a way none have been before. Of course, she's not exactly the most experienced, a few clumsy, fumbling kisses that left her feeling awkward and uncomfortable, they hardly feel like they deserve to be counted in comparison to this. Jareth's mouth over hers is slow but firm. He trails his tongue over her lip and slips into her mouth, just gentle enough but never giving her a moment to think of anything but him. She moans into it, forgetting to be embarrassed, and lets her and slip free of the covers, bringing her arms up to wrap around his shoulders. His long hair tickles her skin, and the movement brings her closer, slipping further into his lap until they're pressed close together as his arms tighten around her back. She can't help the gasp that escapes her when she realizes that the bulge she feels through the covers and the thin material of his trousers is him pressing against her. 

He pulls back with a small laugh at her surprise, ducking down to press kisses down her neck, biting down hard enough to ride the line between pain and pleasure in a way that she's surprised to find she likes. 

The hand in her hair slips down to grip her just enough to tilt her head back and to the side. The steady pressure of his fingers over her pulse makes her giddy, and she's sure he must feel the way her pulse is fluttering under his touch. He leans down to bite her clavicle and his hand slips down to trace over the curve of her breast. No one's ever touched her there before, she's never particularly wanted it enough to let them, and she's glad that it's him. This strange creature who frightens and excites her, who wants her too badly to care if she's inexperienced. 

She's startled when he pushes her to lay back, the covers are low on her hips, it leaves her feeling incredibly exposed in a way that sends tendrils of thrilling nervousness spiralling down her spine. She watches as he leans back, pulling off his own shirt to reveal skin so white it seems almost translucent, she's overwhelmed with the desire to  _touch_ but when she reaches out to pull him over her he just stills her hands with his own. He grins wickedly down at her and presses a small kiss to her knuckles. 

"Be patient, Sarah." He places her hands back at her sides and she huffs in disbelief, leaning up so she's resting on her elbows.   
"I thought you said I could have whatever I wanted?" She protests, absolutely not pouting. His hands come to rest on her hips, slowly traveling upwards, and she tries her hardest not to let her distract from the fact that she would _also_ very much like to be touching _him_.  
"And you wanted to be touched." He quips, stilling his hands. "Or did I mishear?" His faux innocent expression and raised brow do nothing to hide the smugness in his eyes. Something about it makes her want to rise to the challenge she's not even sure he realizes he's laid down.

Unable to hold back a grin of her own, she pulls back her legs just enough to kick back the covers, ignoring the heat that burns at her cheeks as she does it, and lays them back over his thighs. She's not entirely sure what she's doing but she's always had good instincts, she squeezes hard enough to grind down against him, almost losing her goal momentarily at the shock of pleasure that shoots through her when she does. He's not smirking anymore, and she's not entirely sure that means she's won this round or not. 

"Come on, then." She urges, her voice gives away just how eager she is, but she doesn't mind, it doesn't waver. "Touch me."  
"Oh, Sarah." His voice is so, so low she feels it in her chest. "I'll do much more than that."  
"Good."

He covers her body with his own, and the sensation of skin on skin is so, unbearably good. Their kisses are messier and rougher than before, and his trousers are so thin she can feel the heat of him grinding down against her, she moans into his mouth as the aching throb between her legs grows stronger at the feeling of it. Her hands are frantic, scraping down over his back and up to grip his hair, then down again, feeling particularly spurred on she grows bold enough to slip her hand just below his waistband, fingers pressing hard into the flesh she finds, encouraging him to press against her harder. He groans into her mouth and dips down low, slinking down the bed to mouth at her chest as her hands run over his shoulders and through his hair. 

Nothing about the action itself is particularly mind blowing, but it feels so, strangely intimate, she finds she enjoys it. He nips and sucks along the crease of her breasts, leaning up to roll her nipple between his teeth with his eyes on hers and that- well, that definitely feels better than she was expecting. 

He takes his time making his way the rest of the way down her body, showing her sensitive spots she never knew she had. Nipping lightly at her rips, scraping a thumb along the inside of her hip in a way that makes her tremble, sucking at the skin just above the thick thatch of hair. He slips his hands around her and drags his fingers over her lower back in a way that both tickles and makes pressure build inside her in a way that feels too good to put into words. 

When he scoots down lower to kiss and suck his way up her thighs, she doesn't need him to tell her she's wet for him, she's pretty sure she has been since she woke up, there's no way to hide it now. Still, he makes sure to tell her just that, voice just a touch smug, but more than anything, reverent, cherishing, eager beyond belief. By the time he drags a finger over the crease of her, she's already trembling with the anticipation of  _more_. She knows she's meant to be the one in charge, but right now, she'd give him anything he asked if he would just  _keep going_. 

Thankfully, he too seems to be too close to having what he's craved to continue playing games with her. He parts her lips wide with his fingers and licks a barely-there stripe up the sides of her, the ghost of it sets frissons of pleasure off through her insides and he continues, dipping down to taster her properly, teasing at her clit with his tongue. The chasm of difference between the feeling of her own fingers grinding down for sensation dulled by cotton and the feeling of having Jareth's tongue on hers is one she wasn't prepared for. 

Her fists curl tight in his hair when he slips a finger inside of her, but she doesn't seem to mind. It doesn't hurt, exactly, there's a slight sting to having something inside of her for the first time, but for the most part it just feels... strange. Strange and almost unbearably vulnerable. He works the finger inside her, exploratory and almost massaging as she loses herself in the feeling of it. When he slips another finger inside it stings more than the first, but less than she expects. She knows how this works, knows her body is opening up to accommodate him, it's not knowledge she's ever expected to find quite so arousing. 

He's more focused now, and when he crooks his fingers up to drag up against a particularly rough spot just inside her it turns her insides to jelly. 

He presses and drags his fingers there again and again until her entire body is trembling, the feeling of  _nearly enough_ , being forever just on the edge of something, is greater than it's ever been on her own. Her body feels hot all over and she's pretty sure she's begging, but she hasn't got the room in her mind to care about it right now. Finally, finally, the wave she's been riding crests and shakes wrack through her. She's torn between pressing closer and pulling away as waves of hot and cold washing through her, muscles locking up so hard she's sure her heels must be digging bruises into his back, hands tugging painfully at his hair, but he doesn't complain. 

When the feeling subsides, she slumps into the mattress feeling entirely boneless. He pulls his fingers from her and presses a few light kisses against the over-sensitive skin of her before crawling back up her body to kiss her again. It's messy and deep and she can taste herself on his lips, his tongue. 

It's her who breaks the kiss and reaches down to tug at her waistband, pushing it until her hands can't reach anymore and using her feet to shove them the rest of the way down to his thighs. He's kissing her neck, whispering her name over and over into her skin but he cooperates, kicking his trousers the rest of the way off, uncharacteristically messy, and it brings back the fluttering in her chest when she realizes how desperate he must be. 

He brings her legs up, one slung over his shoulder and the other wrapped around his waist, and leans back just enough slip a hand between their bodies, but Sarah's gets there first. She takes hold of him, swallowing hard at the realization her fingers don't touch when they wrap around him, and guides him to her slick folds. The feeling, the anticipation, of the head of him dragging against her is one they both take a moment to luxuriate in. Above her, Jareth looks utterly wrecked, she can only imagine the state she must be in. How she must look to him, laid out bare with her eyes gone dark, hair a mess, sweat slicked skin and hand willing his cock inside of her. 

With an achingly slow roll of his hips, he pushes inside her. It hurts, there's a sharp, sharp burn, much greater than before and she can't stop herself from crying out at the feeling of it, but more than anything she feels overwhelmingly, intimately full. He rests against her again and her hands come up to find purchase against his back as he starts thrusting shallowly inside her. She doesn't realize tears have fallen from her eyes until he's wiping them away. 

Slowly, he begins to reach her deeper and deeper with every thrust. It's surreal, how deep it feels, like he's taken over every bit of room she has to spare, and then some. The pain doesn't fade entirely, her body too new to the stretch of him inside her, but it dissipates until waves of pleasure roll though her, the slightest current of underlying pain almost serving to enhance them. 

She's not sure how long it goes on for, it's easy to lose herself in the overwhelming feeling of him, inside her, around her, setting every nerve on fire, taking up every corner of her conscious mind. 

By the time he slips a had down between them to rub at her clit and digs his feet into the mattress to start thrusting into her, harder and faster, her legs are trembling with the strain of meeting his thrusts. She finds her orgasm first, this one feels heavier than the last, more lethargic, yet even more intense. He follows soon after, kissing her until she can hardly breathe and thrusting into her hard enough to bruise. She's certain she's been marked all over, inside and out. Bruises and bites, she's sure it was intentional. His way of claiming ownership over her body until she's willing to give it to him for good. 

The feeling of him slipping out from her leaves her feeling strangely alone, and though a part of her protests, she can't help clinging to him. He slips to her side, but keeps holding her close, pressing small kisses to her hair as they pant against each other. He tilts her head back so he can kiss her properly, speaking against her lips.

"You'll never be rid of me. Not now, not ever." She's almost certain it should feel more like a threat than a comfort, but she finds it loosens the knot in her chest.

In the morning, he'll be gone, and she'll spend far too long staring at herself in the mirror, looking over the bruises he's painted her body with, wondering what the magic words will be that night.

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know what somewhat-geeky upper middle class teenagers were like in the 80s, but I assume they were lightweights perfectly capable of getting buzzed off one drink ♥ There's about a 78% chance I'm gonna go ahead and let myself deep dive this fandom obsessively so you may see more from me soon? I'd love to explore both PoV, and maybe get into some subtle power dynamics on both ends, cause that's always fun and seems like it could go both ways for these two ♥
> 
> You can feel free to leave any request or just say hello in the comments or [on tumblr](https://dirtybirdie.tumblr.com/)!


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